The Chief spoke first. “Them Clinkenbeards ever pay your mother?”
“No,” said Rachel.
“Big mistake,” said Pat Garrison.
“We’re all big fans of your mother,” said John.
“He’s lying,” said the Chief. “Your mother scares the shit out of us.”
“I know the feeling,” admitted Rachel.
“You did something right,” said Larry Giefer. “You joined our favorite team.”
“The Flood Girls?” Rachel blew her smoke toward the street. “Why are we your favorite team?”
“My brother don’t support Ginger,” said John. “I figured I could.”
“He talked the rest of us into it,” said Larry. “And we keep coming back, every year.”
“Thanks,” said Rachel.
“Nobody plays ball like the Flood Girls,” said the Chief. “It’s never boring.” Rachel didn’t know what to think. “Young Bucky says you need a plumber.”
“Word gets out fast,” said Rachel.
“Stay away from Bucky,” said the Chief. “He’s too tenderhearted. I need him for chimney fires.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Rachel.
“Listen,” said the Chief. “I know a few things about plumbing. Be happy to help you out.”
“I just got a job,” said Rachel. “I won’t be able to afford it for a while.”
“I know,” said the Chief. “You don’t need to worry about paying me. I’m happy to be of service.”
“He is,” said John. “He’s so happy that we all hate him most of the time.”
At this, all of the old men laughed. Rachel couldn’t help but smile. She had found her people. She said a silent prayer of thanks, took another drag.
Hustle
After a long, cold winter, Laverna knew the softball field was still frozen in spots, where the bleachers provided shadows during the day. The usually muddy field was full of unyielding ruts. There would be no sliding. There wasn’t supposed to be sliding anyway, league rules, but sometimes the ladies on the other teams had a little bit too much to drink and just tried to get to the bags any way they could, occasionally headfirst.
She woke up that morning in pain, something she was now accustomed to. She would have to grit her teeth until the cursed casts were finally sawed off, discarded forever. Red Mabel arrived at nine, made Laverna coffee, and gave her a bath.
Before leaving, Laverna had Red Mabel dial Bucky’s phone number and put the phone between her shoulder and ear. The cord stretched across the kitchen table.
“I need you to hit some balls today,” she said.
“I’ve got stuff planned,” he protested.
“I don’t give a shit,” she said. “You owe me. Two hours.” She let the phone fall from her shoulder, knowing that she could not hang it up, not caring that her line would remain busy until the nurse returned.
Red Mabel arranged her pills as always, lined up in piles on the counter, so she could reach down and bob for them, like apples. She swallowed one of Black Mabel’s bootleg pharmaceuticals and her blood pressure medication at the same time, a combination that pleased her.
Laverna eased herself down in her recliner just as she felt the pills kick in, and she floated in this way, lost in a plot to poison the Clinkenbeard family. Laverna had a long list of people she wanted to disappear from this earth. Unfortunately, one was going to be playing right field, and was blood kin.
Rachel was not athletic, or graceful, or coordinated. Rachel was good at destroying things, and flirting with her hair. Right field was the logical place to stick her, because nothing ever happened out there, unless there was a lefty at bat.
Laverna wanted to keep Rachel close, within eyeshot. Rachel claimed she didn’t drink anymore, but Laverna didn’t trust her daughter’s sobriety. There was nothing trustworthy about Rachel. Thinking about Rachel made her start to panic, and before she knew it, she was bobbing for the antianxiety pill. In her experience, something always went wrong when she let down her guard. Laverna kneeled, the blood rushing to her head. She attempted to nudge the phone toward the linoleum, the carpet burning her shins as she was successful in moving it inches, and then a foot. She was sweating, and concentrated so hard on the phone that she forgot the cord had grown tight, caught by her shoe. The phone suddenly rocketed around her, came to rest even farther than she had dropped it. She would not give up. She wanted a beer, decided she would have Red Mabel bring the birdbath from outside and fill it with Bud Light in case of emergencies such as this.
It took ten minutes, and Laverna had finally sandwiched the phone between her breasts and the wall, standing slowly, easing the phone up, mindful of the cord. The phone clattered on the kitchen counter as she navigated it over the Formica. She was sweating obscenely now, and rested, could barely hear the busy signal over her panting. She dipped down and opened her mouth wide, closed her teeth around the receiver. When she stood, her casts knocked a cookie jar from the counter, and it smashed on the linoleum. It was an owl, a gift from Ginger, and Laverna stared down at the shards. A piece remained perfectly intact, and of course it was an eye, and of course it was staring right at her. Laverna was really high on pills now, but determined, and faint from breathing through her nose, she replaced the slobbery receiver in the cradle. Her casts always had a mind of their own, her arms deadened and unfeeling, and the heavy plaster had knocked into the things thumbtacked around the phone. A Chippendales calendar and a recipe for Ritz mock apple pie lay at her feet, half of the phone tree of the Flood Girls remained on the wall. The other half had been ripped free and was stuck to her sweaty neck.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Laverna said, and collapsed on the sectional. She was exhausted.
The phone rang, and Laverna screamed profanities from the couch. She could do nothing but let it go to the answering machine. Rachel seemed to know that Red Mabel was not around to run interference, and began to deliver a monologue.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t work well with others, especially women. I know you’re in a tight spot, but you’ve got a couple of weeks before the first game. There has to be somebody else who can play right field. Put Bucky in a dress or something.”
Laverna closed her eyes, tried to get the floating feeling back.
“I know that you’re really serious about your team, and I know you’ve worked really hard to keep it going, and I appreciate that, I really do. Tabby said you guys won only three games last year, and one was by default.”
Laverna screamed and twisted her head, tried to bury it in pillows to block out Rachel, but only succeeded in further cementing the phone tree to her neck.
“I want you to win this year. I don’t think you can do that with me on the team. I’m a distraction. Every woman in the county knows about me, and I’m afraid they are going to try to hit me with the ball. I don’t want any more soft tissue damage. You would not believe how easily I bruise. I’m not the type that recovers quickly from a subdural hematoma—I think I have a vitamin deficiency, or maybe I’m a hemophiliac.”
Laverna screamed at the answering machine. “It’s because you’re a goddamn vegetarian!”
Laverna listened for Rachel to hang up, but she didn’t. She could hear Rachel breathing. Laverna suspected that her daughter was pretending not to hang up in order to use up all of the tape on the answering machine. Instead, there came a beaten-down voice, one that Laverna had never heard before.
“Fuck it,” said Rachel. “I’ll see you at two o’clock.”
The tape in the machine whirred to a stop.
* * *
Two more painkillers later, Laverna finally floated. She could barely feel the road beneath her as she walked to the softball field. Driving was out of the question, and she was tired of asking Red Mabel for things. She didn’t care if the people of Quinn saw her zombie-walking through the streets. In fact, she kind of relished it, hoped that it might scare some children.
Bucky was the first pe
rson there. Laverna was not tolerant of players who showed up late, or showed not at all. She had seen other teams fall apart that way. She arrived at the field at a quarter to, and there was Bucky, unloading his bags. He carried them out into the field, bare of bases, and he kicked at the frozen dirt where home plate would be. He went back to the truck, and returned with two buckets of softballs.
“Laverna,” he said, and nodded.
“We’ve got two newbies. The worst in right field. I want you to hit it to her as much as possible.”
“Rachel,” he said. “I heard.”
“Right field. Hit it there.”
“You know I don’t have that kind of control,” he responded. “I suck at softball.”
“And you suck as an ump,” she said. “At least you’re consistent.”
Red Mabel emerged from the woods behind the bleachers. Laverna was thankful she wasn’t carrying the corpse of some animal. She did have her rifle slung across her shoulder, so it wasn’t out of the question to worry about such things.
“Go get me some beer,” said Laverna, collapsing on the wooden bench inside the dugout.
“Got some in my truck,” said Red Mabel. “It’s even cold.”
Laverna closed her eyes and rested against the fence. She could hear Bucky whistling inanely. Laverna thought it was Hank Williams, and then she thought it might be Paula Abdul.
“You even suck at whistling!” she screamed this at him, her eyes still closed.
Red Mabel returned, with beer and a plan. “I don’t have any straws in my truck,” she said. “I got my knife. You’re gonna shotgun these motherfuckers.”
Laverna didn’t argue. “You are a really good nurse,” she said. She had grown up in Quinn, so she was used to shotgunning beers. The men of Quinn considered it foreplay. Red Mabel nested the beer into the space between the two boards of the bench, and she stabbed the can with her knife. Laverna sat down in the dirt and put her mouth over the hole. She nodded to let Red Mabel know she was ready. Red Mabel pulled the tab, and the beer shot into Laverna’s mouth. Laverna guzzled almost the entire can, foam all over her mouth and chin. She leaned back and belched, and Red Mabel slapped her back.
“Again,” said Laverna. Red Mabel was happy to oblige.
“Why don’t you just hold it up and let her sip at it?” Here was Bucky, trying to be helpful.
“Fuck off,” said Red Mabel. “We haven’t done this for years!”
“Nurse!” Laverna could tell she was slurring, but she didn’t care. She weaved a bit as she called out from the dirt floor of the dugout. “Give me another!”
Red Mabel delightedly stabbed the can, and Laverna filled her mouth again. She blinked, tried to bat away the sting of beer that shot into her eyes.
Red Mabel slugged a beer down in one gulp, the old-fashioned way. She wiped her mouth with the tail of her flannel shirt and helped Laverna up from the dirt.
Laverna attempted to compose herself as the Flood Girls began to arrive in their cars. Red Mabel dusted off Laverna’s jeans, wiped the beer from her chin, and kicked the empty cans underneath the bench. Satisfied, Red Mabel jogged out to third base.
Rachel showed up five minutes late, her truck rattling from the stereo. To make things worse, she brought somebody. Krystal’s son.
“What is he doing here?” Laverna gestured at Jake with her casts.
“I picked him up on the road. He told me he was our scorekeeper,” said Rachel. “Why is your shirt all wet?”
“He’s the scorekeeper for the entire league. He doesn’t belong to us. He belongs to all the teams in Quinn,” said Laverna. “And I think he knows that.” Jake shrugged, and Laverna belched lightly. He sat down next to her anyway, immaculate in his suit and tie, like a tiny Jehovah’s Witness. He carried a small satchel, from which he removed a sketchpad and a pencil case.
“Maybe he can teach you how to play right field,” said Laverna. She tried not to sound drunk as she addressed Jake. “This isn’t a game, kid. Don’t think you’re getting paid.”
“I am well aware of that,” answered Jake. “You don’t cut the check anyway.”
The Flood Girls began to warm up on the field, while Rachel wandered around the outfield, smoking a cigarette. She dropped it into the brown grass when Diane jogged out to her, handed her a softball glove. Laverna watched as Rachel pointed to her fingernails.
“Wear the goddamn glove,” shouted Laverna. “You can’t catch the ball with your hands.”
“Jesus Christ,” Red Mabel said, and spit on the ground.
The Flood Girls took the field, and the sun was out. An icy patch remained in the outfield, conveniently located between the Sinclairs. They were like pioneer women anyway, and could no doubt navigate it. Laverna suspected that if a grizzly bear came charging on the field, between the Sinclairs and Red Mabel, it wouldn’t stand a chance. And that was without Red Mabel’s rifle, easily accessible in the grass near third base. Guns were not allowed at regular league games.
Ginger Fitchett warmed up on the pitcher’s mound. Bucky lugged a bucket of balls and carefully arranged them before her. People in Quinn still treated Ginger like she was sick, but Laverna knew that Ginger was made of much stronger stock. Ginger had kept her hair short after the chemo, even after remission. She was a no-nonsense woman, and a hell of a pitcher. She was two years older than Laverna, and almost as mean, and she warmed up by swinging her arms around and around, wiggling her fingers. Ginger had been on the team for the last eight years. She and Red Mabel were the only original members.
“C’mon!” shouted Red Mabel. “Let’s get this shit going.”
Bucky flipped her off and picked up his bat and pointed it toward the outfield. Ginger snickered.
The first pitch was wild, and clattered against the chain link that caged off the bleachers. Jake startled and dropped his sketchpad.
The second pitch glanced off Bucky’s bat, and it dribbled along the third-base line. Red Mabel barely moved. She scooped it up and threw it to Della at first. Della gossiped with Tabby and was not paying attention. The ball hit her on the thigh.
“Fuck!” Della shouted, and rubbed her leg. The ball rolled toward the dugout. “What was that for?”
“You need to pay attention,” said Red Mabel.
“You are not the coach,” Della said, and looked at Laverna for backup. Laverna said nothing, would not discourage the gossip. Della and Tabby had married the same man at different times, so they understood each other, and Laverna learned from years of coaching that communication was paramount to the success of the infield. Shortstop almost always threw to first.
The next pitch was good, and sailed into the outfield. The shorter Sinclair caught it without fuss and threw it to Della. The shorter Sinclair always smelled like freshly baked bread. Laverna assumed she was in charge of carbohydrates for their entire compound.
Ginger put the third one right over the plate, and Bucky connected, sending the ball high into the air, heading toward Rachel.
“Move!” shouted Laverna.
The taller Sinclair heeded her orders and made her way toward Rachel, who had put the glove in front of her face, cowering. The ball dropped a few feet behind Rachel, and the taller Sinclair beat Ronda by seconds and hurled it to second base.
Rachel removed the glove from her face, and began to comb out the tangles in her hair with her free hand.
“At least Krystal could make a tourniquet,” shouted Red Mabel. Laverna did not like that Red Mabel was already thirsty for blood. The season hadn’t even started yet.
“Nice try, Rachel,” said Diane, who genuinely meant it. The entire infield laughed.
Ginger’s next pitch went straight over the plate, and Bucky aimed for right field. This time, the taller Sinclair ran to assist. Rachel covered her face again, did not move an inch.
Della backed up from first and caught the ball, just barely, and threw it to Ginger, who had hustled over to cover first base.
“That’s teamwork,” holle
red Diane encouragingly.
“Shut the fuck up,” said Red Mabel.
Laverna groaned, and Jake scooted away from her. She stood up from the bench, wincing as her casts caught on the chain link. As the beer and pills rushed to her temples, and the pain sent sparks into her eyes, Laverna Flood nearly fainted. She called for her nurse.
Jake shrieked when beer sprayed in an arc from the corner of Laverna’s mouth. Laverna wasn’t sure if his sketchpad had been soaked, or if he was shrieking at Red Mabel and her knife. She didn’t really care. When Red Mabel pulled her back up on the bench, Laverna swallowed a belch, tried to appear coach-like. The rest of the Flood Girls were staring at her.
“PLAY BALL!” Laverna cried, wiggling her thumbs, her casts pointed toward home plate.
Laverna studied her team as they shook off the winter. This year, the Flood Girls were going to be ready. Rachel would have to do for now. At least Red Mabel had not run to the outfield and punched her in the face. In that case, putting the glove over her face might have offered Rachel some actual protection.
Twenty minutes later, it was time for batting practice. Tabby warmed up, swinging the bat in circles that dizzied Laverna. Bucky replaced Tabby at second base. Laverna needed a runner.
She called out his name, and Jake looked up from his sketchpad. “I need you to run for me, kid.”
“I don’t run,” Jake said, and pointed at his outfit. “And I’m wearing a suit.”
“I’ll give you twenty bucks,” said Laverna.
“I don’t think so,” Jake said, and returned to drawing.
“Twenty-five,” said Laverna. “Only because I’m hammered.”
“Okay,” agreed Jake.
With Jake at first base, Tabby hit a ball directly at Bucky, which he caught easily. He lobbed it to Della, once again ill prepared. Della watched it sail past her shoulder. Laverna yelled at Jake to run to second, as Della chased after the ball.
In his stiff little suit, Jake pranced to second. He had plenty of time. The ball rolled all the way to the concession stand. Laverna watched as Diane commented on Jake’s pocket square and reached up to catch the ball at the same time.
The Flood Girls Page 10